FFor most hikers, attempting to hike the Appalachian Trail is an exercise in failure. Of the approximately 3,000 people who attempt the “thru-hike” each year – where they walk the entire length of the trail in one go – 75% do not complete the trip. This failure rate is understandable. The epic scale of the path gives low-probability risks plenty of room to transform into unsolvable problems.
Covering much of the eastern United States, the route stretches 2,200 miles (3,524 km) across the Appalachian Mountains and through fourteen U.S. states, much of it in wilderness. Among those who have successfully completed the route from Maine to Georgia (or vice versa), most will take five to seven months to complete the journey. But American ultrarunner Tara Dower is no ordinary walker. In September, she set a new speed record on the Appalachian Trail, completing her hike in just under 41 days and beating the previous record by 13 hours. To cover such a distance in that period, Dower had to run the equivalent of more than two marathons every day – over mountains. When Dower spoke to the Guardian a few weeks after finishing her record run, she could still feel every step.
“I am tired”, she admits. “The other day I tried to run and it was embarrassing. I ran for five seconds and thought, ‘Okay, I’m done.’” Dower runs regularly (and wins) 100-mile, one-day races, so her extreme fatigue is a testament to the challenges the course poses for runners chasing speed records. However, despite her successful career in elite ultrarunning, Dower also knows the pain the Appalachian Trail can inflict; seven years ago she was one of the 75% of people who could not complete their journey.
“2017 is really where it started,” she says. “And, [it] didn’t work rather the way I wanted it.” After hiking small portions of the trail for years, she suffered a panic attack just eight days after her first planned hike.
“I couldn’t fully process what that would look like physically [and] mentally… It was a change in the system. To go from the comfort of a home to the comfort of showers and a bed,” says Dower. “I didn’t know what it was at the time. I didn’t understand panic attacks – [they are] A terribly physical manifestation of fear. I felt like there was something on my chest… I didn’t really understand how to do that at the time agreement with fear. I had just graduated and I guess I thought, “If you don’t think about it, you’ll be fine.”
Dower says she was “devastated” after her first attempt, which begs the question of why she tried again. It may be an unfair question: no one is criticizing Lionel Messi for his decision to play another match after a defeat. At the same time, success in football doesn’t require days of sleep deprivation, weeks without showers, or many of the other countless other problems. hardships that elite ultra runners have endured.
But Dower’s relationship with endurance sports is the product of three factors: a natural inclination toward long-distance running, a lifelong affection for the Appalachians and, of unexpected importance, a Covid-related travel complication. Growing up in the relatively flat suburb of central North Carolina, Dower’s passion for sports started early but focused away from the mountains.
“I grew up watching sports, I’m a Dallas Cowboys fan,” she says. “I have played football and running all my life [track and cross-country] in middle school and high school. I’m not someone who sits still very often.” She went on to play rugby in college, where she studied sports and hoped to progress her studies into a career in the NFL.
“I wanted to do it something with the Dallas Cowboys,” she says, laughing. “I just got a degree in something I enjoyed learning about and hoped that a little while later I would figure out what I wanted.”
When Dower happened to see a documentary about the Appalachian Trail, he was introduced to a new subculture that captured her attention and ultimately changed her life. Although she had encountered the Appalachians on family trips, the culture of hiking in the film fascinated her.
“Just walking from Georgia to Maine seemed very difficult and bizarre. Like, who do That? At the time, I didn’t know people even did that,” she says. “I was very intrigued by the experience of the mountains, but I think I was more focused on the challenge of it.” Dower ultimately decided that she too would attempt to complete the full trail.
She started working at an outdoor store where she could, among other things, buy discount equipment for her expedition – the same trip that ended with her panic attack.
“The panic attack really scared me,” she says. “It was very difficult for me to see anything related to the walk through [in the future].” Ultimately, she would attempt the passage again in 2019 with her husband Jonathan. This time she was successful.
“We were out and about like newlyweds,” says Dower. “I really do peaked during that passage in 2019… I still say that now, even after I set this [record]. Still, [2019] is the best experience of my life.”
With the Appalachian Trail finally under her belt, Dower decided to follow a different path. She eventually ended up on a 2020 trip the Mountain to Sea Routea 1,100-mile trail that runs from the mountains of North Carolina to the Atlantic coast. Like her 2019 trek with Jonathan, Dower’s mountain-to-sea journey was initially intended to be a non-competitive, recreational trip. Then Covid happened.
Long-distance hikers often rely on pit stops in small towns to replenish supplies. However, during the Covid lockdowns, such interactions were discouraged. As a solution, Dower asked people who were already inside her: “pandemic pod‘ to meet her along the way with supplies. In doing so, she realized that she was also inadvertently creating the conditions for an “assisted fastest known time” attempt.
A quick explanation: When attempting to achieve the fastest known time (FKT) of a route, long-distance hikers can bring out their competitive side. A database of FKT speed recordsmanaged by Outside magazine, updates and verifies attempts daily, and organizes them based on various variables. For example, Dower’s recent record was achieved while working with a team and traveling north along the trail. In addition to setting the record in this particular category, so does Dower’s run the fastest overall Appalachian Trail hike regardless of support type or direction of travel.
Despite never having attempted an FKT before, Covid restrictions and helpful friends meant Dower could easily adjust her pit stops on the Mountain-to-Sea Trail to maximize her efficiency. So she decided to try the FKT too. Although undeniably a success – in the regularly innovative world of FKTs, Dower is still in charge Female FKT of Mountain-to-Sea Trail – it wasn’t fun.
“It was a very difficult experience. I didn’t really know what I was doing. My crew – we weren’t really That well informed about what we were doing, in terms of nutrition and sleep deprivation. It was probably the hardest FKT I’ve done,” she says. “I couldn’t run for more than ten seconds without feeling like I was going to fall and pass out… My brain was like scrambled eggs.”
Despite these difficulties, Dower’s interest in competitive sports was reignited and she became intrigued by the team dynamics of what is superficially an individual pursuit.
“Especially with supported FKTs, I consider it a team sport,” she says, comparing her support team to a motorsport pit crew. “I am the physically racing car. I enjoy watching it Villain [Dower’s support team leader] as a pit crew chief and as a pacesetter for me [any given] time is the Director by the racing car. Even though I move my body, they are the ones who guide and nourish me. And then the ‘pit crew’ fuels me and maintains my body and all I am is this physical manifestation of this FKT. I wish further [Outdoor’s FKT database] they called it a ‘team’ instead of just my name.” Her experience on the Mountain-to-Sea Trail helped her refine her team selection process for her Appalachian Trail FKT attempt.
“I look for people who know me very well,” she says. “They push me a little bit harder and there’s no real sympathy. It will be hard and I will probably cry and I will probably get hurt or injured. It’s just nice to have people there who take you a step further.” The new strategy worked. Although Dower had won other races And set other FKTs in the time since her trek on the Mountain-to-Sea Trail, her recent record on the Appalachian Trail stands out.
“I think this is ‘mission accomplished.’ Even if I hold on [the record] for a day,” she says. “This is just a more meaningful record… Not many people have come close to beating the Appalachian Trail record.” She already knows several men who want to emulate her record next season. It’s worth noting that Dower is the fastest person, male or female, to complete the Appalachian Trail. For her part, she hopes that at least as many women will try to break it.
“I would like to encourage more women to go for these long FKTs,” says Dower, “because I think we have a special gift for endurance.” She is part of a broader trend of female athletes outperforming their male counterparts in ultra-distance events. As anecdotal evidence, she mentions the common observation in the hiking community that men often appear emaciated at the end of a long walk, while women appear to be in top physical condition.
“I’m sure there is someone,” she says, “but I haven’t seen a photo of a woman after her walk looking as starved as a man.”
While she is generous with her thoughts on the future of Appalachian Trail FKTs, Dower is more reserved about predictions for her own career. Many colleagues have encouraged her to pursue FKTs on other routes west that, along with the Appalachian Trail, are the ‘American Triple Crown of Hiking.” She is not ready to make such a decision. For now, she’s still processing (and recovering from) her time on the exact same path that left her feeling devastated just seven years ago.
“When I finally broke [the Appalachian Trail record]and it was official and it was verified…” Dowry loses her words for a moment before concluding, “I was complete.”